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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27239254">Only Ever You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberry_Sweetheart/pseuds/Strawberry_Sweetheart'>Strawberry_Sweetheart</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Love You, Always [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A look into their relationship, M/M, billy finds his forever home in Steve’s heart, billy is ready for his happily ever after, billy is so ready to marry this boy, billy is soft for steve, idk what to tag, soft Billy, these burds are in love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:47:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,583</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27239254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberry_Sweetheart/pseuds/Strawberry_Sweetheart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy loves Steve. </p><p> </p><p>“ He’s something special, a pulse that quickens when he sees him, wrapped in those over priced sweaters, in something cashmere, looking soft to the touch. Billy wants to run his fingers through his hair ... take advantage of the closeness to find one loose strand of yarn and pull.</p><p>Unravel him.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Love You, Always [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988824</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Only Ever You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s something special, a pulse that quickens when he sees him, wrapped in those over priced sweaters, in something cashmere, looking soft to the touch. Billy wants to run his fingers through his hair and trace the blue veins that show under the translucent paleness of his skin, wants to enjoy that softness, take advantage of the closeness to find one loose strand of yarn and pull.</p><p>Unravel him.</p><p>He looks great in blue. In deep navy, striking against fair features and the dark accents of his eyes. Blue is his color, even in that ridiculous uniform of his, loose and unfitted, unflattering over his lean figure; it suits it. Billy tells him so, with a wild tongue subdued between his teeth, just to receive a scoff that’s something between flustered and disbelief. But with the warming of his skin, easily noticeable on the high points of his cheek bones, the barest of blushes impossible to hide. Billy thinks pink suits him well too. Especially the pink that darkens at his relentless teasing, flooding his face until it’s an overflowing dam, having nowhere to go except to cascade down his neck and disappear under his collar.</p><p>There’s something special about him and Billy couldn’t tell you what. He could try to explain, write poetry about him, fill novels and libraries about every little thing that makes him special, but without peering through the looking glass of the own blues of his eyes, the pages of the books would seem to be etched with nothing but the mundane.</p><p>A dime a dozen attributes.</p><p>Characteristics that could be found in anyone.</p><p>But to Billy, he’s his one in a million.</p><p>From the way he smiles too large until his eyes squint shut, corners already forming the premature wrinkles of crows feet. To the way he always forgets to the salt the pasta water, always always, without fail. Or how he purposefully mismatches his socks, brightly colored fabric peering over the rim of his shoe. Pink with blue. Red with green. Yellow with periwinkle. The way he knows specific colors like periwinkle, crimson, blood orange, and pesters own dull descriptions on them. “It’s not blue, it’s cyan.” Even those ugly holiday sweaters of his, knitted skeletons and pumpkins for Halloween, reindeer and snowmen for Christmas.</p><p>All his quirks and habits, a dime a dozen, one in a million.</p><p>Everything about him seems to be infinite, like he could go on forever. He’s got these long limbs that just run away from him, unmanageable and jangly, clumsy and yet elegant where they sprawl across the bed, spilling over the edges of the sheets with a grace to their movement. His fingers are slim, —whereas Billy’s own have these knuckles that bulge round around his joints, Frog Fingers he calls them despite Billy’s protests — <em>his</em> taper on and on between Billy’s own when he clasps them tight, on and on until they reach the soft pads of their fingertips, tracing circles on tanned skin.</p><p> </p><p>The day is warm and close to the final hours. Crickets chirp and sing to the humid air, content in the blanket of hot heat. Up in the sky, the moon hangs round and full, casting a silver glow to feed the shadows that stretch from the trees. They don’t talk, comfortable in letting the night life fill the silence, sitting on the door steps, watching the moths hover over the porch light that hums, ambient. A smile stretches across his own lips, soft edges that wear down the harsh lines chipped and carved into his face from years of tense weariness. When Billy peers over, he sees <em>him</em>, and like a brief smile of nostalgia for a moment in life that has not yet passed, he relishes in this feeling of stillness and already misses it for when it’s inevitably broken. An early mourning. Billy turns his gaze away, looks up once more into the stars and let’s his eyes close, shoulders falling slack at his side, memorizing the sounds and summer stickiness and the peace and safety that washes over him in a steady embrace of rare comfort.</p><p>He’s getting pudgier, and he huffs about it with that pout of his, as if this is anyone’s else’s fault but his own. Billy hums as he listens to him rant and pinch at his sides, amused at the indignation that over takes his face in the mirror. A summer working at an ice cream shop finally taking a toll on a boy that has never quite learned self control and restraint. A summer of too many frozen treats and an over helping of free samples. Billy kisses at those slightly fuller cheeks, kisses at his slightly rounder face, and sings his appraisal into those lips. Perfect perfect perfect. Always perfect though every change. Billy wraps an arm around him and places a spread hand over the <em>oh so offending</em> pudgy belly that has him all worked up, and pulls him closer, closer, until there is no room left between them. </p><p>Billy makes it known that he’ll have him anyway he can, even through the inevitable changes their bodies go through, bodies as rapidly changing and fickle as the changing trees through the seasons. Billy will be there. Through every wrinkle and new joint pain that comes with age. Through every inevitable strand of greying hair that peppers that dark mane of his... all these new things… just more to learn of him and meet with welcoming arms.</p><p> </p><p>He’s angry. </p><p>Billy isn’t used to this silent stewing anger; he’s used to the explosive type, either sudden and jarring like an eruption, or steadily building like a whistling pressure pot ready to pop its lid. Reactive. Billy is all too aware of the body turned away from him in the passenger seat, arms crossed and everything, the window reflection showcasing the narrow eyes that are usually so wide and joyful and a hard set line of a mouth. Billy grinds his teeth and clenches at his steering wheel until it squeaks awkwardly in a tension filled car, reaching to turn the music even higher, needing the loudness and the words to drown this feeling of waiting. </p><p>In the reflection, Billy catches a responding eye roll. He wishes this were a movie where he can just pick up the remote and fast forward, skip ahead to where everything is okay and back to normal. To the happy resolution. Billy doesn’t know what to do with this type of anger, how to fix things. It’s like he’s waiting for silence to pop into something physical.</p><p>But this is <em>him</em>. He won’t hurt Billy, ever. Not like that. And Billy tells himself this over and over again, unlearning an instinct that he’s harnessed over years and years of surviving. Billy is safe. Even if he’s sitting on his own anger and irritations, even if he’s holding the the steering wheel for dear life, even if he’s blasting music at the highest volume just over the line of unbearable, Billy drives with the utmost care and a precarious alertness, cautious for the precious, albeit angry, cargo that sits in his passenger seat.</p><p> </p><p>Billy lays on the bed, boots on the sheets because there is no one to see and tell him no, and listens to muffled music that’s almost drowned out by out of tune singing. It’s horrendous — atrocious, ear slipping — what comes through the bathroom walls. The equivalent of an untuned piano, or maybe more accurately a tortured goose. And nothing fills him more with warmth and affection too great to fit in his ever skipping heart. Billy picks himself up and makes his way to the bathroom knowing that it’ll be unlocked, always is like a tempting invitation. The bathroom mirror is foggy, sitting a thick cloud of steam, and the radio playing Blondie to the highest volume that the little old radio on the sink can manage. Everything is so much louder in the acoustics of the bathroom, notes echoing off the walls and bouncing back to his ears. Billy doesn’t bother to take off his clothes or tie off his boots,  has always loved Billy's shenanigans. Calls him spontaneous, his wildcard, when he’s “up to no good” in his obnoxious attempts to get a rise out of him. <em>He</em> has grown accustomed to Billy’s antics, welcomes them, responds with his own playful nature.</p><p>He yelps when the curtain is drawn back and Billy steps in. Yells at him about his clothes already soaked through from the spray, laughing anyways and slicking his wet hair back, singing that horrific singing of his with the widest smile he only wears when he’s <em>happy happy happy</em>. Billy smiles back into an awkward kiss when he continues to sing into the press of his lips. They’re bitter with the taste of soap suds.</p><p>Billy kisses Him.</p><p>Kisses and runs his hands over his wet skin, just feeling, innocently and not inciting anything more heated or seductive. Like the thick steam could be the haze of a dream and Billy must touch, feel and hold him just to make sure he’s real. This is real. Runs his hands through those brown locks and rubs the soap bubbles out of it. Sings silly into that slender neck of his just to listen to the sound of their voices together.</p><p>Billy kisses Him</p><p>He touches Him</p><p>He craves Him</p><p>He Loves Him</p><p>
  <em>Steve</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve Steve Steve</em>
</p><p>Always and Forever.</p><p>Only ever Steve.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Basically this fic is an accumulation of Billy’s thoughts the ones that are so filled impossibly with love </p><p>Billy doesn’t reference Steve's name at the end, one because it is his inner thoughts and when thinking of someone your mind thinks of them as She He or They, (and I kinda like the feeling it gives like watching scenes from a movie or watching a playing memory)</p><p>But also because it’s sort of a weird slow burn in which he knows he likes Steve but the true realization and acceptance that he’s in love with him is at the end. The ending is when he falls completely with him so that’s why he Steve name only comes at the end. Like his name finally completes the picture and illustrates the power Steve has over his heart and Billy full acceptance of it</p><p>Ya know?</p><p>Also </p><p>Because of this ik it was a hard or maybe weird read so sorry about that but thank you if you made it to the ending I hope it wasn’t too confusing and I hope you liked it!</p><p>Tumblr is @billy-baby</p></blockquote></div></div>
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